


Balance, Restored

by ester_potter



Series: Crystals [1]
Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s03e07 One Minute, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, Praise Kink, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:01:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27781906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ester_potter/pseuds/ester_potter
Summary: “Yo, are you waiting for a written invitation?“Actually, I’m waiting for your permission”Jesse sneers in disdain. Manipulative dick.[Originally posted on EFP Fanfiction]
Relationships: Jesse Pinkman/Walter White
Series: Crystals [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2033695
Comments: 9
Kudos: 53





	Balance, Restored

_"Don’t let it get you down_  
_You’re the best thing I’ve seen_  
_We never found the answer_  
_But we knew one thing_  
_We all have a hunger_  
_We all have a hunger"_  
  
  
\- Florence + the Machine

“I am not turning down the money! I’m turning down _you_. You get it? I want nothing to do with you! Ever since I met you, everything I’ve ever cared about is gone! Ruined! Turned to shit, dead, ever since I hooked up with the great Heisenberg! I’ve never been more alone. I have nothing! No one! All right? It’s all gone! Get it?”

Walt listens to him, speechless. Jesse’s still recovering, he's had a very bad time because of Hank, and he souldn’t get upset like this, but now he's like a train now and Walt can't stop him anymore. He _refuses_ to stop the river of despair and hatred raining down on him, because he deserves it. The guilt prevents him from defending himself, it makes his guts clench and then it explodes and spreads all over his body, his fingers start to tingle. He lowers his eyes and bears it, suffers in silence. It’s the least he can do.

For the first time since he has known him, he’s almost frightened by him. He has never seen him like this. Not even when he found him high in that junkies’ house after Jane's death, when he had held on to him like his life depended on it. And once again, it's all his fault.

“No, no, no, why … Why would you get it!? What do you even care, as long as _you_ get what you want! Right? You, don’t give a shit about me”

Those words have Walt look him in the eye again; his expression seems rather foreign to Jesse, he can't decipher it, but he's too distraught to stop or care about the consequences. He's tired of being bossed around and insulted and treated like a piece of trash and this asshole _will_ listen to him, now.

“You said I was no good. I’m nothing! Why would you want me, uh? You said my meth is inferior. Right? Right?”

Something snapped in Walt, and suddenly the thought of Jesse thinking this about him becomes unbearable. It all happens pretty fast: he gets up and reaches the younger man’s bed. Before he knows it, he’s sitting on the edge, facing him.

“What are you doing?” asks Jesse, taken aback but still furious. When Mr. White reaches out to him, panic overwhelms him just like when he saw Hank approaching him at a steady pace, followed by a wave of nausea. “What are you doing? Don't touch m—”

Walt gently places his hand in the nape of his neck to prevent him from recoiling and presses his lips against his forehead. For a split second, Jesse really thinks he's going to throw up, except… well, shit, he feels empty all of a sudden. Body and mind. Nausea, anger, despair, contempt, physical pain. Everything disappears, and not because of the painkillers.

Mr. White keeps his lips there for a long time, like a father does to feel his son’s temperature. They’re dry and rough from the beard and it feels like they belong to someone else, but not to the man who used to fuck him in an RV just a few months earlier. Jesse feels like it was a lifetime ago, like he has lived three lives in one.

Jesse almost drowns when those two gray eyes look right through him with a feeling he can't name – it's not possession, so what the hell is it? –, and then the man’s lips are back on his eyebrow.

“I didn't mean it” whispers Mr. White against his skin. “You’re _not_ nothing”

Jesse clenches his fists on the sheets, praying to find the will to yell at him and kick him out again, while Mr. White pulls away, tilts his head slightly and studies his bruises closely. If he didn't know him well enough, Jesse would think he’s feeling guilty. Not that an apology would change anything, anyway.

Walt touches the other’s forehead with his, then he replaces it with the tip of his nose and lets it slide down along Jesse's. He’s more delicate than he’s ever been, barely touching him, as if Jesse’s made of crystal and the younger man hates it, hates how it makes him feel, but it’s nothing compared to what Mr. White tells him: “I mean it, son. You’re something”

Jesse frowns and stares at him. _Oh, really?_ , he’d like to ask, _then what am I?_

As if he just read his mind – and he probably did – Mr. White softens his gaze. “You’re _good_ ” he says, punctuating the words. Before Jesse can react, Walt brings his lips to Jesse’s closed, swollen eye and kisses it lightly. The boy hisses in anticipation of a pain that doesn't come. A tear falls before he can stop it, and all the defenses he built on venom tremble and fall with it.

Tears stream down the Jesse’s face, where his cheeks are still livid from the beating, and Walt can do nothing but watch it. He sighs, thinking that if he could ease the younger man’s burden, if he could take away all his pain he would do it right now, and then he would absorb it, he would take it all on himself. When the hell did it get to this point? How did a hopeless junkie manage to climb the list of his priorities and reach the top? He wonders if it’s just a miscalculation that he can fix, a reversible process that will have no repercussions, but he knows it’s impossible. Everything has repercussions, in chemistry as in life. And what is worse, is that he’s not even sure he wants to reverse the process anymore. It might be too late. He’s got Jesse under his skin, like a substance that’s poisonous and redemptive at the same time, a substance which generated chemical reactions that changed him deep down; he’s no longer the same, he never will be, and Jesse belongs to him, period. They chained themselves to each other before they even knew what they were doing.

The thought suddenly makes him self-confident. He knows what Jesse wants. He knows what he can do to him. And right now he just wants him to understand.

“You’re so good, Jesse” he continues, drying the kid’s tears with his lips. “You’re the kindest, gentlest thing in this twisted, sick world”

His right hand reaches for Jesse's left cheek and touches it just lightly, carefully avoiding the stitches. His thumb strokes the split on his lower lip, another sign of Hank’s ruthless, massive hands. A wave of pride overwhelms him when he realizes that Jesse’s no longer trembling at his touch and he’s looking at him with admiration, just like he used to do in the past, like he trusts him again. Walt’s hand moves lower until his thumb presses down on the kid’s Adam's apple, which travels up and down when Jesse swallows.

The younger man lets himself be maneuvered and inspected, striving to ignore the blood flowing down – which becomes more and more difficult, especially when he notices the soothing, languid movement of Mr. White's thumb on the back of his neck, just above the hairline.

“You're a good boy” murmurs the man, moving his right hand under the sheets and resting casually on Jesse's thigh. “So smart, so loyal...”

Jesse holds his breath. They’re in the hospital and anyone could walk in at any moment. He should stop him, but Mr. White leans forward to press kisses on his jaw and neck and his hot breath’s sending shivers down Jesse’s spine and shit, you can see he's hard through the blankets.

But Walt doesn't need to look: he grazes his erection from above the underwear, caresses it briefly and puts his hand back on his thigh. He pulls away from his neck and smirks. The glint in his eyes has Jesse moving his hips instinctively, lead by the mad desire to be touched again.

“Yo, are you waiting for a written invitation?” he snaps.

“Actually, I’m waiting for your permission”

Jesse sneers in disdain. Manipulative dick. “Oh please. You don’t want my permission. You want me to _beg_ ”

“If that's the way you see it”

To be honest, Walt’s _dying_ to get his hands on him, but he forces himself to wait, and in the meantime he settles for massaging his inner thigh.

Jesse inhales deeply through the nose, biting down on his split lip. “’M gonna kill you” he hisses.

“You told me not to touch you, didn’t you?”

Son of a bitch.

He catches Mr. White staring at his lips, so he wets them with his tongue. An invitation the older man accepts by taking Jesse's upper lip between his own and by closing them right on the split left by Hank, as softly as he can. He gives the same treatment to the lower lip while grabbing Jesse's dick from above his underwear.

Jesse might have kept a grain of self-control until now, but it all goes away at once.

“Touch me” he says.

He can’t finish the word: Mr. White slips his hand inside his underwear and touches him, really touches him; Jesse would love to wipe that smug look off his fucking face, but he's too busy moaning in relief. He can’t dare to imagine the state of his dick now.

Walt slowly moves his hand up and down the shaft, while Jesse clings to his shoulders to not sink back on the pillow. He feels Mr. White's lips on his neck again: he licks it, marks it like he used to do before, until Jesse had met Jane and he once stopped him in the middle of a hickey, out of nowhere, telling him to stop and not to leave any marks.

Walt couldn't remember ever feeling so jealous of him, so offended, so outraged by that request. He had obliged, but then he had turned him around and took him from behind, fucking him hard and fast without worrying about his comfort or pain.

Now this problem no longer exists, it died with Jane, and the thought that it was necessary to let her die disgustes him, but he can’t bring himself to regret it. Especially if Jesse’s still here with him, wounded and broken in every way, but still alive, breathing and quivering. So he quickly silences his guilt and focuses on torturing his neck, marking him wherever he can while he inhales his scent.

Jesse chooses to ignore the fact that he used be quiet and groans without restraint, tilting his head to the side to give Mr. White more room as he squeezes his shoulders. Suddenly he realizes how much he misses – has missed all this time – his body, so mature and bigger than his, so unlike any other body he has ever touched, and he wishes to be _anywhere_ else with him, so he could rip his shirt off.

Suddenly Mr. White's hand makes his way down to Jesse's opening – to which Jesse’s only healthy eye left widens in surprise – and then comes back up again to cup his balls; he squeezes them and handles them as he wants, his wrist rubbing against the younger man’s cock.

Jesse attacks Walt’s lips violently, forgetting the cuts on his own, and moans loudly when he feels him opening his mouth instantly like he was waiting for him; Jesse immediately lets his tongue meet his, licking and stroking, as he brings a hand from his shoulder to his shaved head, tilting it to kiss him deeper.

Despite the excessive impatience of his lunges, Walt welcomes them promptly and moans with pleasure, until he pulls away to catch his breath. “Slow down” he says as if he’s warning him. Jesse ignores him, mentally tells him to go to hell and then bites his lower lip, before stroking it with his tongue. Mr. White laughs against his lips and massages his balls, pushing the tip of his thumb into the point at the base, just below his penis.

Jesse opens his mouth and desperately looks for air. “That’s good, Jesse, just like that” says Mr. White in a hoarse voice. “Good boy”

Jesse suddenly realizes that no one has touched him like that since Jane's death and hurries to chase the thought away, as soon as he feels his eyes flooding with tears; he concentrates on moving his hips in a random movement, trying to meet Mr. White's. He’s not going to whine like a baby again. He just wants a hand job now, an orgasm that will make him forget everything.

Walt had never realized how much Jesse needs recognition, how he needs to feel appreciated and loved. Just seeing him respond to his words this way makes his heart clench and turns him on at the same time. Luckily, he has stopped trying to listen to his conscience or to focus on useless moral dilemmas a long time ago.

“You want to come, don't you?” he asks him in a whisper, leaning toward his face to prompt him to open his eyes again. “Say it, Jesse”

Jesse does as he’s told, his glossy eye pleading him and his lips open in a sequence of needy gasps and whimpers. “Yes” he answers faintly.

And Walt will satisfy him, he’ll do it right away... Just one last thing to please his already huge ego some more.

“Yes...?” he insists as he lets go of Jesse's testicles and traces the vein of his painful erection with the tip of his finger, making it twich under his touch.

Jesse groans in annoyance and clenches his hands on the collar of Mr. White's shirt. He hates his guts and he needs him like no one else in the world. Two minutes ago he was yelling at him, and now he's about to beg him. Refusing to end their partnership will do him no good, and yet everything ‘good’ he has left in his life comes down to him. If only he had any discipline, or coldness, or cold-heartedness, or self-respect, he could give up all that... But that's just not the case.

“Yes, _please_ ” he pleads against his mouth.

Mr. White hides a sigh of relief behind a sneer. “Good boy” he says, and finally, _finally_ , takes him in his big, expert hand, and starts stroking.

Jesse's leans the tip of his nose against Mr. White's cheek, and his warm breath shatters against the latter’s skin: he clings to his shoulders and neck as he pushes his hips against his hand, or at least he tries to, but the position isn’t ideal and he is gives up quickly – which only increases his frustration.

His moans turn to whines, and Mr. White starts planting light kisses all over his face to comfort him.

“It's all right, son. I got you”

“Mr. White—” whines Jesse.

“Sssh, sssh” Walt collects pre-come from the tip of his cock to cover his shaft with it, then slides his hand up and down more easily. Jesse barely suppresses a scream and rolls his eyes back. He keeps encouraging him as he focus on the tip of his cock.

“You’re so good for me, Jesse. I got you, baby” He says while he teases the foreskin with his thumb.

Jesse looks for his mouth again and sighs with satisfaction when he finds pliant and open waiting for him; he lets his tongue slip back inside and trace all the paths it can find, like he used to do just a few months before. He didn’t remember this to be so hot, so right, and he wonders how he was able to give it up, to spend so much time without it, while he sucks Mr. White’s tongue.

The hand in his underwear is aggressive, relentless, but the man sitting in front of him stays soft under Jesse's hands, gentle and... docile. Jesse’s almost afraid just thinking about it. He finally lets go of his mouth when he’s so out of breath his head’s spinning. He's a little ashamed of himself, given that his balls are about to explode and he's about to come in his underwear like a virgin, after a-five-minute long hand job. He tries to blame the fact that he has not had any intimate contact with another human being since before rehab.

Mr. White can sense he’s on the edge. “Come on, sweetheart. Let it go. Let go for me”

Jesse starts moving his hips again. He’s basically fucking Mr. White's fist while the older man increases the rhythm, squeezing out an orgasm that almost makes him faint.

“Mister—” Jesse's voice breaks when a hot liquid erupts from his dick; he hides his bruised, swollen face into the hollow of Mr. White's neck, trying to muffle rough grunts as much as possible.

“That's it. Just like that. You did so good, baby. You're perfect”

Walt’s thumb and index finger form a circle together and he keeps jerking him off through his climax, until comes back from the high, completely spent.

He takes longer to recover than he wants to admit, and even once he does, he doesn't dare to lift his head off the man's shoulder. He doesn’t want to look at him, doesn’t want to know which look will be on his face. He’s afraid of what he will tell him. Mr. White simply removes his hand from his underwear, travels the same path backwards out of the younger man’s gown and the sheets, and then cleans it against the blankets absent-mindedly.

“I'll clean you up” Walt says, as if he hadn't just jerked him off in broad daylight in a public place. “Let me get you something from the bathroom”

“I can do it on my own”

“You shouldn’t get out of bed in these conditions...”

“Don't tell me what to do”

He can't even put half as much nastiness into it as he would like, and Mr. White's low chuckle on his ear proves it. Walt sighs and leaves a kiss on his temple; he keeps scratching the back of his head softly and raking his hair with his fingers.

They stay like this well beyond the time it takes for Jesse's breathing to even out completely, and neither of them seems willing to move first. Which suits him more than well, Jesse thinks, with his forehead still on Mr. White’s shoulder as his fingers play with the buttons of his mentor's shirt, sliding them out and back into the buttonholes.

Mr. White’s the one that breaks the silence. “And it's not true you have nothing”

Jesse pulls away to look him in the eye, then leans back until his back’s resting against the pillows again.

The pout on his face makes him look like a child in Walt’s eyes – but a child who has already lost his innocence; broken, damaged by hands that should not have dared to touch him for any reason. Walt thanks God that Hank’s his brother-in-law, because he doesn’t even want to speculate on what he would have done if someone else, anyone had did this to Jesse.

He stares back at him: he’s so full of rage, and yet so needy of help, of him; he looks through it and he knows Jesse’s skimming the people he has left, and seems far from happy with the outcome. Walt knows just what he’s going to say. He doesn’t need to let him finish the sentence.

“My parents don't—”

“You don't need them. I'm your family”

Jesse opens his mouth to speak, bewildered, and then shuts it again. The doubts that crowd his mind don’t get to be said out loud, but they still reach Mr. White.

“Jesse” he repeats, slowly. “ _I'm_ your family”

As much as Jesse hates to admit it, if circumstances were different he would probably have melted like butter at those words. Yeah. If only they were.

The point is that he knows him: Mr. White doesn't do anything for nothing. And though Jesse has given up to the fact that he has basically become addicted to the way he touches him, the way he kisses him and makes him come, the way he manages their intercourse even through words, like the king of manipulation that he is, he’s not going to give in again now. If Mr. White thinks he can convince him to go back to being partners by dint of orgasms, he's wrong. Not after what he put him through.

To his delight, he feels a crumb of his grit coming back to him; he moves his back to find a more comfortable position on the bed and clicks his tongue with skepticism.

“Even if we’re not partners anymore?” he asks.

Mr. White lowers his eyes with a sigh, and Jesse thinks he has finally nailed him, he thinks he has won. The moment Mr. White looks back at him, he knows he deceived himself

“Even if we’re not partners anymore” answers Mr. White solemnly.

He smiles at the younger man and brings a hand up to gently mess up his hair. It’s a gesture that encapsulates everything: the gesture of a partner, a mentor, a lover, a friend and a father, but also of a rival who pretends to concede victory to his opponent so that he can await, because it’s worth sacrificing a few battles to win a war. Jesse sees all this but he doesn’t withdraw, he doesn’t reject that touch, on the contrary: he hates himself but he’s aware he wants more, he needs it, he misses it even before it leaves him.

Mr. White gets up and heads for the door; Jesse follows him with his eyes, his lips pressed together in a thin line, nails sinking in his own palms and his underwear a mess.

Once in front of the door, though, Walt stops and turns to face him again.

“Anyway… Your meth is good, Jesse. As good as mine”

He smiles briefly at him one last time, before exiting the room and closing the door behind him.

Jesse knows what Mr. White is capable of. Even more so, he knows he has no certainty that he is ever truly honest, which means he should doubt everything he said to him until now, _especially_ now, within the walls of his hospital room, although a hidden part of himself – the most naive one, the most in love – believes it.

But he has no doubt about one thing: he has been honest now. _My meth is good_ , he thinks. _As good as his_.

The words pierce Jesse's mind like bullets, and there they stay.

Walt turns off the car and sighs. He waits a few seconds before getting out.

Jesse’s smell is still all over him, his teary eyes in his mind and his chocked moans in his ears. The memory’s fresh enough for him to feel a tingle of pleasure in his lower stomach. He breathes deeply to keep it under control, helping himself by thinking about Jesse’s face, scarred with wounds that he tried his best to soothe through kisses and caresses.

He gets out of the car and his phone rings. Jesse.

As soon as he reads that name, remorse dies down. He already knows why he’s calling him and he feels like an idiot for worrying so much.

He won again. Jesse’s still his.

Balance has been restored from the moment he walked out the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Someone please explain me why _the fuck_ do motivation and inspiration to write only come to me when my exam session is just around the corner or when I’m in the middle of it. And if there’s no reason, just give me some self-discipline. I’m begging you here


End file.
